The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
by poeteer
Summary: I've just always loved the title of the McCullers book. Please read & review. Dark fic.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hey, so I've pretty much re-written the first three chapters of this story. School is finally over and I had some time (and some espresso!) and decided to rewrite the whole thing. The plot is still the same, but I had more time to work on the writing itself, so it should be better. I'm not much of a fiction writer, and I'm really trying to make compelling scenes – and work with the fragmentation I want for this story without it being overbearing – so bear with me. I changed the tense to present, so I'm sorry if I missed a few spots. I'll check in the morning.

The poem is "The Truth the Dead Know" by Anne Sexton.

Disclaimer: Nothing affiliated with _Labyrinth_ belongs to me.

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At six-thirty-five a.m., veiled in the gray-threaded light of her bedroom, Sarah throws on her torn jeans and white t-shirt, chugs some day-old black coffee still left in the percolator, and walks out into the front yard, letting the screen door creak and slam behind her. This has become her daily ritual: the most familiar and comforting three motions of her life. She lives for the feel of the sea-wind across her face, relishes its force as she steps outside, stopping briefly to smell the salt in the air.

This morning, it is rainy, and the late-spring air is soft and warm as fleece. Halfway down the sandstone path that snakes from her door to the road, she touches her pocket -- realizing she's left her keys in the door -- and stops.

"Oh, it'll be fine," she mutters, and turns to go.

The sky is already turning white and thick with the sunrise. Sarah strolls along the roadside, her hands in her pockets, her burnt-brown hair tumbling in the harsh coastal wind. At the edge of the road, she sees the hill dip into the water, its scattered deadwood -- can already smell the dead crabs and dried seaweed -- and hurries a little. Even though she is not short on time -- knows the ocean will always be there, waiting -- she quickens her pace. She is anxious.

Today, so early, the water is so overcast and ghostly -- stretches so far into the fog -- it seems the end of the earth, where time stops and there's only forever. _Only forever_ -- she puts the thought away instantly. A flock of seagulls disappears into the white. Sarah runs a hand through her hair.

_No wonder they used to think the earth was flat_.

The water pushes towards her, creaking, coaxing her in.

_Where the sea swings in like an iron gate and we touch. _The words echo in her memory. Once she had read them in a poem, and she had never forgotten them. _No one's alone_, the poem had said, and she wanted so badly to believe as much.

_No one's alone..._

The sea swings and swings.

_What am I doing here?_

Sarah -- twenty-four now, with true adulthood looming ahead of her -- had made a mistake. Overwhelmed, restless, she had left town -- her dad, stepmother, her brother Toby -- without telling anyone her whereabouts. Worse, she had left her fiance – Jacob -- alone in their rented apartment, with no money and no way of contacting her. One January morning, she had simply left a hastily-scribbled note for him on the kitchen counter, saying only that she needed a moment, just some days, and would be back soon enough. Then, with a slight gnaw of guilt in her stomach, she took the last of their savings from the coffee can in the back of the freezer, put what she thought she'd need in a duffel bag, and walked out the door. _Only a week_, she had thought. _I just need some time alone, to sort out my head. _

Just some time. But as days became weeks, then months, Sarah knew she didn't want to go back. It wasn't love, and she wasn't normal. She knew her life would never be normal again, at least not until she could find and face what force pulled and pulled, what led her to this spot again and again, what kept her awake nights -- what gave her such terrible nightmares.

The dreams had always – in some sense – been there, but had quickly escalated to such a point that she couldn't have one night of restful sleep. In some of them, the shadow of a man waited for her, his breath a cool knife at her neck. In others, she was the shadow, separating and merging into her body. In others still – the worst ones -- she could not stop bleeding, and no one could help her. And then, there was always the one dream from long ago – the most vivid one -- where she wished away her baby brother to the goblins, and fought her way to save him through some Otherworld labyrinth pulled right out of her favorite childhood play.

Afraid to even close her eyes, she forced herself to stay awake -- watching old love stories, like _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, or baking breads and muffins -- into all ours of the night. She "took a break"— as she termed the endeavor – from sleeping, for as long as he body would allow. But then she couldn't sleep when she tried. She would toss and turn, and throw off the covers, and that would be all.

Now she just barely dozes. She wakes almost immediately. The insomnia is a drug, or a poison -- for better or worse -- in her body. It makes the world seem blurred and illusory, and constantly demands more than she can give, demands the kind of superhero strength that exists only in film.

And right now, standing at the edge of the sea, in some tucked-away town in Maine, Sarah sees things she knows can't really be there. But when she closes her eyes, and opens them again, there they are: the milk-thick sky above her whirlpooling, waiting to suck her in; the ocean calling out her name. It pulls and pulls at her body with a magnetism that simply cannot be real.

_I'm really losing my mind_, she thinks, pulling out a cigarette, and steps closer to the water. She shields the match from the wind and lights the end. Stressed and bored, she had picked up smoking within the first week of her hideaway. In fact, the gas station clerk, from whom she'd bought her first-ever pack -- Marlboro Lights -- was one of the only people she had said even one word to in weeks.

_No one's alone. Yeah, right._ She lets the wind hit her face.

_If only I could step away from all this mess I've made. _She had wished that once – in a nightmare (_why do I remember it so clearly?)_ -- and it had come to her, but not at all in the way she had expected. It had almost cost her everything.

_But if only_. How beautiful the sea looks in the morning, all shrouded in fog. How much she wants to be a part of it. It calls and calls and won't let her rest. Is it her name? No, but the call is _like_ her name.

"Well, might as well go for a quick swim."

Sarah takes off her sandals, and steps in.

_Yes_.

-----------

Blackness.

Sarah wakes up lying in dust, her head aching and aching. Her t-shirt and jeans are soaking wet, and sticking to her skin. Wet – why is she wet? The cesspool of sky above her spins and spins. Moment by moment, her headache widens and spins with it. The blood-orange glare from the lowering sun blinds her, making her head ache even more. But wasn't it just foggy? Wasn't it just morning?

_Where--_

She turns her head to the side. The dust whirls up from the ground like a swarm of bees -- hauntingly, without wind or sound -- wherever she is. A desert? It all looks and feels so familiar to her, but try as she might, she can't quite put a name to the place. The thick dust stings her eyes.

But wasn't she just standing at the edge of the Atlantic?

Shivering, dust-coated, she holds her arms over the chest and rubs her hands over her skin. _What_-- the aching in her skull -- _hap _-- she can't keep a thought for more than a few seconds. Now, with her eyes closed tightly, she lifts her hands, rubs them in circles over her temples, knowing she needs to get a grip on all this as quickly as possible, and find out where she is, before--

_Click. _

Sarah opens her eyes.

_Click. _

Someone is here.

_Click._

Her heart stutters. Run? Could she run? _Have I been kidnapped? _She is not bound and gagged -- but where was she? Maybe this person can help her --

"Sarah."

That voice, a man's voice. He knows her. She closes her eyes, trying to place a face to that voice, its cool sound -- its slight edge of brutality. And now, she knows that he stands above her. She can feel his body radiating above hers. _Open your eyes_, she tells herself. _Just do it._ And she does.

And gasps.

"I've waited for you."

He says the words so simply, so matter-of-factually, that her heart skips. There is still no wind, but his light-blond hair seems to blow with some force, and his black cape wavers in some imaginary gale.

Sarah tries to slide away from him, to keep a safer distance, but her spine is so sore -- the ache in her head so thick it weighs her down -- and he smirks slightly as she winces from the pain.

"Goblin King, what do you want from me?"

He stares straight into her eyes, and steps closer. Sarah knows he's trying to frighten her with those eyes -- so deliberate and calculated, with the glint of cold steel -- but she cannot keep her hold. She looks away into the dust, noticing how the setting sun seems to make little orange wildfires on the hill. The gnarled trees look drowned in the haze. She feels more vulnerable moment by moment, the sweat beaded on her brow now beginning to drip down the side of her face.

And as she watches, but for a moment, he kneels down to lay a cool hand on her feverish forehead.

Then, he whispers the words slowly into her ear, their sharpness rippling through her ache, making it harder and harder to think:

"I want what you have taken."

He places his hand on her mouth.

"_Everything._"


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Once again, this chapter is totally reworked. Please review, pleeeease.

Disclaimer: Nothing affiliated with _Labyrinth_ belongs to me.

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Sarah lies perfectly still as his hand lingers over her mouth, then moves down, down, brushes her breasts. He takes hold of her white shirt and slowly lifts her from the ground, still staring, still hard-faced and unapologetic. She can't speak. Something is lodged in her throat like a clump of algae, just sitting there, tying up her voice. His eyes scare her. They are colder than she remembers them, and more callous. They won't let her in, but they burn iron-hot, they pool into hers.

"What's the matter, Sarah? Cat's got your tongue?" he taunts, lilting his voice, as he plays lightly with her tangled hair.

"I -- I have nothing to give you."

It's true. What does she have? But she knows. She has her body, still wet, shimmering like a fish hoisted into the sunlight. She can feel his desire.

"Oh Sarah." He smirks. "Sarah, little sea-bird. I'm afraid what you want to give is irrelevant. You think you have no place here?"

He takes another stop closer, so close she can feel his magic curving around her body, the space between their chests pulsing. A heavy sensation rises in her now, like stones piling upward, now pushing on her chest -- pushing on her throat.

_Run_.

She turns--

"Don't."

He snaps the word, grabbing hold of her wrist. She says nothing, nods slightly, and he releases her.

"Why have you brought me here?" she says, in the most composed tone she can muster.

"You have brought yourself here."

"How?"

"You wanted it, and it was so." He smirks again.

"No."

Sarah surveys the landscape, craning her neck to examine again the gnarled trees, the orange dirt cracked and shadowy in the waning light, and stops on the labyrinth of her past -- _real? _-- carved into the distance, little lights of fairies hovering near the entrance. No. She had not wished this.

"But I did not say the words."

"You have much to learn, Sarah. What a child you are, even still, even after all--"

He steps closer.

"No." She cuts him off.

She pauses. He is playing games with her.

"Let me go. Take me back."

He grins at her. "What's said is said." He pronounces the words slowly, with a hint of malice. She knows he knows she'd remember them instantly.

"Liar. I said nothing. Bring me back, Goblin King." Her voice is violent, her teeth gritted.

"Or else what? You will use your _words_?" He smirks. "You have no power over me," – he smiles wider at this – "Sarah." But you still have what I have given you--" he steps closer still -- "I can smell it on your skin."

Sarah steps backwards, but he takes hold of her wrist again, only gently now, but she is forced once again to look him in the eye.

"What have you given me?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" Games, always games.

"Everything," he breathes.

He is too close, she cannot bear it. His desire is a magnetic field -- a cage around her body -- as he kisses her forehead once, tasting whatever he senses, breathing against her more heavily by the second. She tries to tear herself away, but he grips her tighter, seemingly pleased at her struggling.

He wants her to suffer and cry and scream. She can feel it in him.

"Let me go. Please." Her voice cracks.

She cannot hold her panic back much longer. Her breathing is becoming more erratic, her chest stinging. _One, two,_ she counts in her head, trying keep calm. Soon, whatever armor she has will fall, and then he will know she is more afraid of him than she has ever been of anything in her life. She can't let him see.

Now he moves his hand along the inside of her thigh.

"Please. Stop."

Now he takes her earlobe in his teeth, and breathes into her, and groans lightly, almost imperceptibly.

"Stop."

Now his mouth hovers over her own, like a furnace, the heat rushing in.

_Breathe_--

"Please." She is close to crying now.

He releases her forcefully, and she falls. The dust rises over her body, like a spell, and she coughs a little -- _Oh_ -- _God_ -- _what's_ --

The dust clears.

The Goblin King stands over her, and stares. He looks so angry -- so _furious _–

He seems, almost, displeased with himself.

"Please. What can I do to get out of this? Don't I get to play your _(fucking_) game again? Don't I get to run the labyrinth?" _Composure_, she reminds herself. _Don't swear, don't give him what he wants. _

Silence.

"Very well."

"Very well?"

"Run the labyrinth." He turns around and walks toward the blackened tree stump. Everything about him is dark. The light is red now, slowly bruising into a deep purple, and much colder.

"But I must warn you, Sarah. This time, no one will be here to rush to your aid, like a pack of lapdogs."

He grins wolfishly. "This time, no one will save you from your mind."

Friends. Her friends.

"What have you done with my friends?"

"Ah -- how precious. Your _friends_. That, my dear, is a question you should be asking yourself."

"Myself--"

"You thought they would live without your -- attentions? You left them long ago, and so have they vanished from this world."

He smiled. "Just like your sanity."

"Fu--"

No. She cannot lose her temper. But oh, how she wants to strike him -- strike him dead. When had he been this cruel to her?

"And what happens when I beat your labyrinth, Goblin King?" she says, mockingly, wanting so much to use an expletive in place of his name. But that's what he wants and she won't let him have it.

He frowns, the cold light hardening his features. "You will not beat me, child. I know you better than you know yourself. And when you lose, when time hands you back over to me, you will know your fate."

The clock appears now, the same one from her first journey -- her first mistake.

"You have thirteen hours."

Sarah scans over the sepia-toned labyrinth -- winding like thick and thorny vines before her -- and then back at him. But he's gone.

-------------------------

Sarah runs her hands along her arms.

_Shit._

She looks around at all the deadwood, the darkened sky, then down at the cracked and flowerless ground at her bare feet.

_I can't believe this. _

What exactly had he said to her? All she can remember now is his teeth on her ear, his breath wet and hot at her neck. She can still smell the sea on her clothes, like salt and fish and sand, and what else did he smell? Something wild -- almost feral -- had come over him and he had encircled her and touched her and -- _my God_ -- he had wanted to possess her, or was possessed _by _her.

And now here she is again, facing the labyrinth.

_Again_.

How real is it, this time? What kind of nightmare has she been tricked into entering? What are the stakes?

Sarah sighs and begins her walk down the hill. _Again_. She looks up to find a moon so full, so bursting, it looks about to shatter. It reminds her of the huge Hunter's Moons she used to watch as a child, nestled in whatever dark spaces she could find to hide until her mother called her inside. But the moon above her is much larger than those had been, and tinged red.

During their little -- rendezvous -- night had fallen. How can she beat this -- thing -- in the middle of the night? How will she see? Even more, she's lost her shoes. She curses again -- and winces -- as her headache floats back into her.

Everything at the bottom of the hill -- sans Hoggle -- is as she remembers it. The fairies glow and hover among the wilting flowers. The door looms in front of her.

"Open," she says.

Nothing.

"I wish for the door to open."

Still nothing.

She turns to the fairies -- "Hey -- I need to get -- to get in the labyrinth?" -- but they ignore her, as if she's invisible as air or time. She pushes her hand into the quiet light of their circle, and they disperse, as if she had dipped her hand into a stream, scattering the minnows.

"Huh – that's strange."

Turning back to the door, Sarah forces herself to think hard despite the headache clawing at her skull. _Think._

And as she thinks, she touches the door with her hand.

_"Fuck!"_

The iron lights up – into a portal of light -- burning hot -- the pain -- thrusted up her arm -- making her dizzy --

"_What the_--"

And the door opens.

"But -- how?" She asks herself -- or it -- or no one.

She had done nothing, had barely even pushed. But there lies the open door before her, the black and ominous labyrinth waiting for her entrance, the burning in her arm still thrusting its thorns. Even more, her abdomen is prickling with heat. Has she been struck by lightning, poured full of electricity?

She lifts her damp shirt and looks down.

The scar.

She had found the scar one day in the shower: a coal-dark smudge spread on the left corner of her stomach. She had shrugged it off then, thinking it had been from some childhood fall. But now, the scar -- or mark -- or whatever it is -- burns hot and white, like a blind eye.

Panic rises and flaps at her chest again.

But no, she has to go -- forget about it, for now -- before it's too late, and she's lost the game.

------------------------

Still running a finger over the mark, Sarah steps warily into the labyrinth -- like a cat testing water with its paw -- and tries to peer through the darkness, the blinding pain still pushing through her head. There's no sound at all now, nothing to see, just blackness, and she looks hard up at the sky to find the moon, some star -- something -- but she can't make out anything clearly. _Where'd the moon go? _she thinks, the words rippling through her headache like a flock of birds.

_Ouch._ Her head.

"Nevermind the moon, nevermind anything, just go, you idiot -- go --"

Her words echo loudly through the corridor, so loudly she thinks there might be two of her -- so loudly, she vows not to speak aloud again.

_You can remember the way. Come on, Sarah, just feel it out_.

The quieter she forces herself to be, the more she feels part of the darkness, of its motion – its nothingness. She walks lightly. For a moment, she feels almost nonexistent, until her hand brushes against a plant, the tip of an eyeball, and -- _Wait. Yes, the worm, could he be here?_ --

"Hello, is anyone still here?"

No answer, not even white noise.

"Hello? Please!"

Nothing.

So she continues walking, cursing herself in her mind for always playing the fool.

_God_.

What an idiot she has been, always escaping, always wishing stupidly, always the child. _Stupid. _She is so stupid. Once, she saved an unknowing Toby from her own stupid mistake. (God, how she misses him.). Somehow, she's messed up again -- badly -- and how can she expect to be so lucky this time?

Sarah stops her rickety train of thought.

Her abdomen -- where the coal-turned-white mark is -- is hurting badly, so she takes a little spit and rubs it over the burn. The nausea is almost too much. She thinks she might vomit any second, and then she remembers how Jacob held her hair back once when she was sick and slumped over the toilet, how gentle and caring he had been with her then, and almost begins to cry.

But no, not now.

The mark, the scar -- what could it mean?

The door had lit up, and the mark had burned, and opened the door. Or the door -- no -- how had she done it?

Sarah stops walking, and the halting of her footsteps allows the palpable silence to flood the corridor again. She stares -- as best she can -- at the stone in front of her, and thinks for a moment, and rubs her hand.

She is getting nowhere. She must try something else.

"Time to find out." She puts her hand over the wall – and then, opens a portal of light – and pain -- _the pain_ ---

She steps forward.

------------------------

Sarah stands barefoot in a dark field, a slight wind pushing the hair from her eyes. The tall grass calls -- her name? -- and chants to her as she walks forward, into the moonlight and shadow. The ground is soft and warm as hair. Where is she? She remembers nothing but who she is -- her name -- and --

_Where_--

In the sky, she can discern three crescent moons --_ three_ -- as if one full moon had broken into pieces -- or as if she were underwater, looking up at a distortion of the moon on the surface -- and --

_Where, the voices_--

There are voices floating up around her, and she feels strange, distantly alone, as if she has entered the realm of sleep -- not dreams, but sleep itself.

_Sleep--_

What is that echoing?

A night bird warbles from the shadows. Sarah squints. Ahead, she can see a wide river, some crooked trees at its bank--

_The river_--

Thirsty, she is so thirsty.

She needs water, or sleep, or -- or she will pass out, and lose time--

_Time_--

Why does she care about the time? Where does she need to be? The grass sings like children.

A choir of children. Or is it the bird?

_Children_--

She walks to the riverbank, pushing through tall grass and weeds, and kneels to touch the dark water -- so pure and cold along the bones of her hand -- coursing, vanishing into nothing, like an endless tunnel -- but what --

_Come_--

What is it?

So thirsty.

Crouched among the wind and voices, Sarah cups the river to her mouth.

She closes her eyes as the water threads down her throat, savoring its coldness. A quiet has fallen all around her, like sleep, and – and is that her mother, singing her to sleep?

_Shhhh_---

Humming.

She hears humming.

She opens her eyes slowly.

Before her, a little girl plays in the shallows, crouched and looking for something, the hem of her white dress moving with the current like a moonlit cloud. She is cupping the water in her hands over and over to see what comes up in them.

"Hello?"

The girl looks up from her playing, and Sarah notices her light-green eyes, her brown hair curled at the ends, like leaves, and then she knows -- recognizes this ghostly nymph, resurrected from the river --

It is her.

Her child face.

The child says nothing, and holds out her hand.

Sarah stares -- for a moment -- and then, so slowly, takes it in hers.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: And, again, reworked. PLEASE REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I own nothing _Labyrinth_.

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_Inside -- black -- breathe -- into the light_ --

---------------------

Sarah wakes in a bright field, the light still drying her jeans and hair, and stares up at the light-purple sky for a moment -- her head spinning, always spinning -- before attempting to stand. Where is she, and why is she wet? She stands – oh, how it hurts! -- and squints. Along the edge of the field, she can make out an emerald-green river, some oak trees at its bank. But it is far. Has she been swimming in the river?

"What--"

_What_--

In her head swims a skull-splitting, unnamable pain. Does she have a concussion? Or is – is she dead? No. She feels alive. Her mind reverberates like a metal drum – ripples with everything it touches (touches?).

_Come, come_--

She begins to walk through the dandelion and clover, those little suns and moons she had made into crowns as a child. As she walks, she feels her headache lifting, and her body lightening – opening? -- and suddenly she feels invincible, as if she could live forever here. She could never die. All around, she feels a gentle pulsing, like ancient insects. She can hear the slow rush of the river -- or is it the water pulsing? or the purple sky? -- and now she wonders if she is inside some great heart --

_Heart, here-_-

Something feels so familiar. And yet.

Sarah squints. At the edge of the river, a horse laps at the water and grass. She can hear the teeth clicking from where she stands.

Enchanted, she walks towards the animal--

_Come, come_--

And calls to it -- does she? -- and reaches its place more quickly than she should have. She rubs her hand along its flawless, slick-brown coat, and then moves to touch the lovely bones of its face. The animal looks at her with nebulous eyes, and breathes deep, and she notices the little spots of white along its forehead, along its back -- _What a beautiful creature_, she thinks. _Alone. Lonely creature. _

And she knows, this is the kind of horse she had loved as a child --

_Child_--

The horse stares at her, with ears alert, but does not move. Sarah lays her head on its side, its smell not of sweat or mud or dank hay, but impossibly fresh. Like light itself. Everything here feels impossible -- immortal -- her vision slurring and clearing, slurring and clearing --

_Come_--

All she knows is this horse makes her feel warm, and safe, and -- _Shhhh, I cannot hurt you_ -- was she speaking aloud, or in her mind? -- and she runs her hand along its underbelly, feels a flush and fade of warmth inside. She wonders if the horse is scared of her. She has never felt simultaneously so awake and disoriented, her sight slurring and clearing, slurring and clearing --

_What was_--

The horse breathes more heavily now. It takes one step backward, and looks past her with fear in its eyes, but when Sarah turns, she sees nothing -- _Shhh, baby, shhh_ – and strokes its back.

But the animal will not be consoled, and she sees the whites of its eyes burning. It begins to grunt and shift its feet, as if ready to rear.

_Shhhh_--

It kicks up its head, and shuffles its hooves—

What does it see? –

And pulls away from her grasp, then turns in a circle –

_Wait!_ –

And leaps into the river.

"Oh my god--"

_No--_

She crouches down to the riverbank. Why isn't its head coming up?

"Oh, come back--"

But now Sarah feels something building behind her.

She turns.

"What is -- my god --"

The blackest cloud she has ever seen is covering the far end of the sky, and now comes towards her at tsunami speed. Inside, she hears a roiling of voices, growing louder and louder as it rolls forward--

_The river--_

She takes another look behind her, and jumps into the water.

---------------------

_Breathe --- down --_

---------------------

Sarah awakes coughing in the dark.

Something is lodged in her chest, pressing on her heart. _Pressing_.

It could kill her.

She coughs and coughs until the object enters her throat, and falls to the floor in front of her with a wet _thump_. Rolling on the floor, she holds her hands to her neck and steadies her breathing. _Breathe_.

She looks down.

It is a wet, black bird.

A night bird, wrapped in grass, and making tiny sounds.

She reaches out to touch it, but it shudders, and flies away.

The darkness wraps around her, and she can barely hold a thought. Where is she, where has she been? Disoriented, she pulls herself up from the dirty floor and begins to walk, waiting still for her eyes to adjust.

"Where -- where was I?" She says, to no one.

Where ever she has been has left her unbelievably exhausted. Even more, she cannot see but two inches in front of her, the black so black it might as well be the bottom of the sea. Her footsteps are muffled against the dirt floor. So the floor is dirt, she knows that much. She shivers. Why is she wet? The bird -- what --

_Listen_--

She stops.

Behind her, a _click_ -- and another _click _-- and yes, someone is here.

"Sarah."

The Goblin King says her name sternly, almost fatherly, and then everything comes back to her. She turns around to face him.

"Where have you been?" His voice is low and grave.

She thinks for a second, taking the time to look at him -- really look at him – and notices the way he stands in the corridor of the labyrinth like a hologram, more the ghost of a king than a living one. He walks slowly towards her, his face angry and tensed, and stops where she stands.

"I -- I don't know."

He looks at her incredulously, his mouth pulled tight, his anger clear and sharp, almost like a knife in his own hands.

"Does it even matter? I'm still here -- running your gauntlet, playing your games."

As she speaks, she uses the light he exudes to see the structure that surrounds them. _No. _They are in the first level of the labyrinth, she can tell. The stone walls tower over them, blocking out any other light or sound. She has gotten nowhere. _Nowhere._ Oh, where has she been?

He hovers close now, his eyes darkening, the crown of his hair framing her face.

"Of course it matters. You fool. You stupid, stupid girl."

Sarah backs away from him -- he is too close, too powerful, too strong, no matter how much she tells herself otherwise -- and her head hits the stone wall behind her. Suddenly, there's the blinding pain, a portal of light -- _light_ -- and she steps away, her whole body shuddering with what fills her.

The Goblin King steps closer. In her confusion, she hears him laughing -- guttural and low. He places a palm at the back of her head -- to keep it from touching the wall again -- and leans into her.

"Child, you do not know what you hold."

Sarah winces and looks down. He is too close -- too close to her --

"Look at me."

She resigns, and looks up, holding his gaze as if his eyes were rocks in her hands, and whispers to him:

"Whatever I hold, I will use to defeat you."

"Oh Sarah," he sniggers. "But do you even know the words for when you arrive?"

She keeps her eyes steady.

"I thought you said my words had no power here."

He grins at her. "Clever girl."

"No matter. I'm afraid that's not how it works--"

"How _what _works?"

The meeting is taking a dark turn, and she does not know how to stop all this from happening, as if she's watching a deer cross the road just before a car whips over the bend. He looks down from her eyes, and places a hand over her stomach -- pausing over the mark -- and traces a line to her hipbone.

"I'm afraid you have something I want."

Sarah can feel his arousal rising over her body like a poisonous gas. It is the same feeling she had had earlier, on the hill, and now she is getting nervous, for then he had seemed barely able to control himself -- possessed --

"Tell me," she orders, but it sounds more like pleading.

He holds his mouth over hers now, taking what breath she lets herself release, and his eyes darken further.

"Tell--"

Now, almost viciously, his mouth falls on hers -- his tongue slips inside -- his hand follows the taut line from her hip to her breast.

Whatever it is, he aims to take it – now.

"Stop!"

She manages to cry between his lips, but he covers his free hand over her mouth, and then moves it back down along her body, and bites her lip as he kisses her, and she does not know what to do. He is taking – taking – (_what_?) and she closes her eyes, and concentrates, focuses on the light and the night and the course of her blood -- why her blood? -- like liquid stone -- and pulls what she can, pulls and pulls as if unearthing the roots of some ancient sequoia --

_Pull_--

And then, suddenly, a sparrow chirps from a distant tree.

The sun begins to rise.

Sarah has brought the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_, its characters, or its songs.

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Everything is white.

The sparrow sings, and sings, and Sarah slumps to the ground, her perception warbling with its song. She closes her eyes. Why can't she feel her body? _Oh god oh god_. The birdsong is a heart beating, gently, against the white sheet over her eyes. Her arms and legs have gone numb. They won't move at all. _Move!_ She pulls all the energy she can into a bundle, and tries tensing the muscle in her arm.

Nothing.

_Oh god, why can't I see? I can't feel--_

And then, her arms and legs begin to tingle with pins and needles – slight at first, and then more, and now furiously.

Sarah winces.

The space inside her body begins to ache. And ache.

_As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you. . ._

The pain is rough, rocks grating against the washboard of her chest. Sarah feels as if all the blood and bone have gone from her body, leaving only her skin -- as if what was once inside of her has been replaced by a thorny loss.

She breathes – _breathe_ – and tries moving her arms – _yes, thank God, I can move!_ -- her vision returning in smudges of color – dark brown, hay-colored light. The bird still sings, and so her mind warbles gently, like a piece of yarn being plucked by wind, as she manages to lift her head and look around.

In the early light – _light?_ – Sarah can see shadows scuttle across the walls of the labyrinth, the sky shining gray and thick against the tobacco-brown stone. She smells the dew and dust mingling in the air.

Yes – it is morning.

Something – a migraine? -- sloshes in her skull, and tinges the edges her sight with a white aura. She steadies her palms against the dirt floor and forces her body to sit up. She winces again as the pain sharpens. _Where is he?_

Sarah looks all around her – down both ends of the path, then up to the high ledges of the walls – but the Goblin King is gone.

_He left me here to die. _

Now she remembers his hand on the back of her head, his mouth hovering like a bear trap over hers. She licks her lips – chapped and sore -- and tastes blood. He had bit her in his -- his _fever._

Fever. Even as Sarah stands as still as possible in the middle of the path, she wavers with her own fever, her head mired with a warm and viscous substance, and touches her forehead. It hurts. Badly. It drips down into her fingers. The sensation reminds her of the scarlet fever she had caught in the fourth grade -- how, at recess, her head and body had been so taken by sickness that she had fallen to the concrete. The second before she fell – she still remembers, even now – the air had thickened and swelled like the ocean before a storm. It had almost seemed as if the time and space around her small body – and not the fever inside her – had conspired to pull her to the ground. That day, lying on her back as her teacher called and ran, she first sensed the connection between the worlds lying both within and beyond her.

For the rest of the week, she had stayed home in her bed. Being dizzyingly sick was okay, then. But not here, not now. She can't lie down and sleep. "Breathe," she tells herself. _You can make it to the end of this mess, just breathe. _

Sarah concentrates, as hard as she can, and takes a step. Her vision ripples slightly, and she almost falls.

Come on. Get a grip. Grab onto something.

She focuses on the shadow in front of her, and steps again.

_Ripple._

She feels drunk. She tries to imagine the rim of a canyon in front of her, a solid stretch of land waiting at the end: the high labyrinth walls dropping away, the path narrowing, scrub of sagebrush miles below. Her life depends on this. She focuses her eyes straight ahead. The dark shadow in front of her – her shadow? – wavers. She takes a shaky step, and then another step, and soon she is moving down the path crookedly – but she is walking, and (hopefully) getting _somewhere_—

Sarah stops dead.

Then begins to walk forward again, with more vigilance. She sees now. The stone walls undulate when she walks, heave inward and outward gently. The force pushes and pulls her body. It rocks her back and forth, as if she were in a cradle. And the birdsong, still warbling, dips out and in again.

_What – what is that?_

She stops – looks around -- then sits down in the middle of the dirt path, pulls her knees into her chest with her arms, and lays her forehead down. She is beyond frustrated now. How can she go on? She is _sick_. The world _ripples_ when she walks, so much that within ten minutes she would become seasick. The bottoms of her feet are cut and blistered, her head is feverish, and the inside of her chest still aches – though less so now – from whatever had happened to her. And that, she realizes, is her problem. _I don't know what happened._ And it's not just here, and now. Sarah – awake for seven straight days, and just barely sleeping for months – had been seeing strange things before she arrived in the labyrinth, and even before she had left for Maine.

_Maine_.

She imagines the water moving back and forth, rocking, rocking, until two ends of the same wave meet each other in mid-air, and fall back into the sea. . .

_My whole life has become a hallucination._

She meditates, for a moment, on the sea – the salt in the wind, the smell of seaweed and wet wood. It is the last place she was before she came here. She closes her eyes. She was standing at the lip of water, and. . .

Sarah opens her eyes and looks up. She blinks hard, then opens them again.

The sea. She smells the sea. The brine stings her nostrils, and she can feel the distinct burn in the back of her throat that comes after one has swallowed a bit of water. It is strong, too strong. She coughs. And now, opening and closing her eyes slowly, she sees the sea glinting before her in splotches, as if she is peering through a tattered rag of the labyrinth and seeing what lies behind.

_No one will save you from your mind._

And then, the vision is gone.

_Like your sanity._

She cringes at his words. Her memory has preserved the coldness in his voice, the dark luster in his eyes as he said them. The Goblin King had known about her delusions; he had looked her in the eye and threw them back at her, like his precious crystals. He is hiding something from her. She knows he is. But how can she think analytically, how can she lay everything before her, when her perception undulates with the walls and the fever in her head burns so fiercely? When she is so weak?

Sarah looks around. The labyrinth walls seem to hover inward, which is making her feel claustrophobic. She lets the saliva pool in her mouth, then swallows. Her mouth is so dry. More than anything – than sleep, or food – she needs water. _Water._ The word refuses to leave her. Where can she find some water? The land here is arid. Worse still, all she can see is stone.

_Think_.

When Sarah was in fourth grade, her mother sent her to a summer Girl Scout camp in the middle of the woods. They had spent the sweltering days making threaded bracelets, playing clapping games, swimming, singing _The ants go marching_ while hiking the trails. . .but now within the blurred memory she sees, clearly, herself sitting cross-legged with her tribe among the trees, listening to a counselor explain how to find water when lost in the wilderness. _Think._ What was she saying to them? In her mind, the counselor moves her arms and mouth, but there is no sound. Her child self is watching a shape fly between the trees hypnotically. It stops on a branch and stares at her, yellow-eyed and large as a Harvest moon – a white owl.

Instead of paying attention, she had been staring at a white owl.

_Son of a bitch!_

Had he really been watching her for that long?

Sarah holds her forehead and closes her eyes. She sees a white owl perched on a bench at the park. A white owl on the school's roof as she runs across the playground drawbridge, talking to an imaginary person. White owl on a tree branch, in the dark, as she takes off her clothes and dives into the lake, thinking herself alone. That was last summer.

_I've waited for you._

Had any of this everbeen about her brother? What does he want from her?

_Child, you don't know what you hold._

What does she hold? He had refused to tell her. As she asked him a second time, he had put his mouth over hers, and tied her tongue with his. She struggles to calm her aching head, the questions spinning and echoing inside.

_Where have you been?_

He hadn't known (or _had _he?) where she had gone. What had happened to her? Then, Sarah remembers the mark on her stomach and lifts her shirt. It is still there, light-gray, glowing softly. She runs her finger over its smooth surface. She remembers more now – the touch of the wall, the pain, the light of the stone. And she remembers how his hand had seemed to be searching her body as he touched her, like a blind snake curving up her leg, then her stomach, and breast --

Sarah stands up, trying her best to steady herself.

She had walked through the light – the wall? – and into – into _something_, but then her memory stops. Had she even walked through the light, or had she been hallucinating? She remembers waking up in the labyrinth. She had coughed up a small, black bird. The bird had been _alive._ And then he had found her standing there, and began to touch her, and – and something had happened. She had closed her eyes, and – _white_ -- and then it was morning. How many hours had she lost?

_Maybe I have been going about this all wrong._

Sarah turns and stares at the dark stone in front of her. In her delirium, the wall seems blurred – rippling? – and softened. She touches the mark again, and holds out her right hand. _Should I?_

She takes a step forward.

_Yes._

Sarah closes her eyes, bracing herself, and walks forward with her hand outstretched. But this time, there is no light or pain. She feels herself move smoothly, as a stone through quicksand, to the other side.

-------------------------

Sarah stands – hovers? -- in the middle of a bright field, teeming with grass, and yellow dandelion, and clover. She looks up, but sees no sun -- only a bruised-purple sky poised calm and thick above her. Her vision slurs and clears, and slurs and clears, as she looks around. It comes and goes with a slow and steady pulsing, a sound like distant thunder, and her body seems to sway with it. How did she get here? It is warm, so warm, and the grass below her seems to lift her up – up – her body feels almost weightless. She knows she has been here before. _How_. . .

_I could live forever, here. . ._

She squints, struggling to see through haze. At the edge of the field, she can discern a green river, with three oak trees lining its bank. It sparkles in the light. But it is far. And – wait – yes. There is a horse there, eating the grass. She can hear its teeth clicking from where she stands.

_Come. . ._

Sarah begins to walk – float? – towards the river, slowly, for she does not want to scare the animal away. But it is difficult to keep her weight balanced. Her vision slurs and clears, slurs and clears. . .

_What is happening?_

Up close, now, the horse is beautiful. Its back and forehead are adorned with star-specks of white; its brown coat is oil-slick. She runs a hand along its sweaty neck, but wait – not sweat, but. . .some watery mineral, blue-white shimmer on her fingers. Is it opal? Moonstone? No matter. She knows that this is the kind of horse she had loved as a child. Sarah rests her hand on its underbelly, and waits, and feels a slow trembling. Is the horse sick? Its eyes – blue and ethereal – look tired and worn, as if it has just returned from a long and painful ride.

_Maybe it's thirsty._

Sarah kneels down to the river. She moves her hands to cup the water, so that the horse can drink from them – and be _well_ again – and stops. She stares long and hard– her sight slurring and clearing, slurring and clearing – into the water, which is not water at all.

_How. . ._

The river is made of millions of tiny fish, swimming past her with great speed, opening and closing their mouths. Sarah cannot tell where one fish ends and another begins. Standing back up, she looks around the field, focusing and unfocusing her eyes, as if she were looking at a stereogram. In the air, she can see them – the contours – the wisps of minnows rolling past like fog, again and again. . .

_Again. . ._

Next to her, the horse whinnies and rears. She turns her head. Its once limpid eyes are wide with terror; its body is shaking.

_Shhhhhhhhh. . ._

Sarah moves to get up, but the horse is now soaring in the air, over the water (_fish?_)—

It disappears.

_No!_

She turns around, and screams.

A black cloud, or storm, or furnace-rush of darkness – the thin snakes of tornados hanging down, and twisting just above the ground – has swallowed the horizon. Sarah can hear the voices turning inside. They call to her like every nightmare she's ever had. They sing.

_Coming. . ._

to swallow_ her. _

"No!"

Sarah looks down at the river (_fish?_) – looks back once.

Then jumps.

----------------------

Sarah awakes on the floor, her eyes closed tightly. She cannot breathe. Something is roiling inside her, tearing at her insides, pushing coughs up into her throat. But she holds them for one second, holds. . ._Hold_. She can feel him. The Goblin King is knelt over her body. He is pushing one hand down on her chest, and he is blowing. He is blowing into her ear.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Hey, I tried to do some real dialogue. Hmmmm. It's also really late right now, so sorry if I missed some typos or mistakes. Please review!!

Disclaimer: Not my _Labyrinth._

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He moves his mouth from her ear, and Sarah opens her eyes. She can still feel him close, but she can no longer hold her body still, and turns to her side, coughing. He rubs her back tenderly – but with some tension, she can sense it in his fingers -- as something pulls into her throat, flutters, and comes out her mouth. It hurts. She looks down. It is another black bird, chirping quietly. _Why is this happening again?_

But she doesn't have time to think, not now.

"Goblin King."

Kneeling, he watches the bird fly up and disappear over the labyrinth walls, his eyes sharp and full as moons. Then, he stands above her, looking dark and formidable against the high mid-afternoon light. His black cloak billows; his blond hair is tousled and mane-like. Sarah moves to stand with him, but he places a boot on her chest and looks down at her.

"Call me Jareth."

Once he removes his boot, Sarah lifts herself from the ground slowly, and steadies herself in front of him. Her vision ripples slightly. The ache in her head still echoes his words, as if her mind were an empty cave.

"No." He frowns at her, but she goes on. "I just want this to be over."

"Oh, the ordeal will be over soon enough. I assure you."

Sarah takes a step forward. "Why – why all this? What do you _want_ from me?

Jareth moves closer in front of her, leonine and grinning, and she steps back from him again. And so he steps forward. "My poor Sarah, always in the dark. Always so _oblivious_. Do you remember nothing?" He deepens his voice. "_But the King of Goblins had fallen in love with the girl_—"

"No," she cuts him off. "All you have done is hurt me. You brought me here, you make me suffer."

He bares his teeth slightly, and moves his face closer to hers. "I have never hurt you, little girl, though I cannot guarantee I never will. You didn't let me finish: _And given her certain powers._ I have given you everything, and you have come here on your own accord. Although I do supposed I have. . .helped you along. How _have_ you been sleeping, Sarah?" He grins, her name in his mouth like a weapon.

"You – "

"Yes. I can't say it hasn't been entertaining, watching you cling to the raft of your sanity." He tugs at his black gloves, and continues. "But you see, I needed you here, where the barrier between us is pervious. I needed to take back" – he grins again – "_what you have stolen_."

"What?" she spits at him. "What do I have of yours?"

He cradles her cheek. "How precious, love. How innocent." Now he holds her chin. "_Powers_. What began as a small seed of my magic has burgeoned inside you as you have grown. Did you wonder, Sarah, at how swiftly the morning came? How the world spun around you like a whirlpool of your own making? How you merely had to _close_ your eyes, and here you lay?" – he lowers his voice, almost whispering, and pushes her hair from her face – "Did you ever _listen _to the calls of your name? The Labyrinth has called to you through the sea of space and time. You could turn it this way" – he chuckles – "and say that while you run through the Labyrinth, the Labyrinth runs through you! What a _riddle_ you've become."

He pauses for a second, but it seems like minutes to Sarah.

"But, I will have them back soon enough." Leaning in closer now, he breathes harshly, "And so will I have _you_." He smiles lasciviously, but wickedly. And with such conviction that Sarah feels her throat tighten, closing. . .

_No._ She steps backward from him, her green eyes wide and sparkling with fear. A bird calls from some distant tree like a pebble thrown into water, growing louder and louder in her ears. She steps back again. _I have to – I have to get away from him._

And then she begins to run.

Sarah runs through the fragmentary shadows of the path, her body rocking back and forth with vertigo, the stone walls rippling like mud with each step. Her world tilts. Think. Where can she hide and think? _The forest. I can hide in the trees._ She runs faster now, looking straight ahead. She doesn't remember how she came to the forest the first time, but she has to try. She needs to get away. . ._Away from him_. . .but it is so hard to run here, barefoot and dizzy. . .

Her feet entangle, and Sarah feels herself stumble. . .then, the thickness of the air as she flies forward. . .

_No!_

Her face grazes the dirt. The knees of her jeans rip against the ground, her hands bloody from slowing her fall. Her palms burn – the tears sting her eyes – but she still uses them push herself up, staining the ground dark red. The dirt sticks to her scrape. As she stands – nearly falling over – Jareth grabs her arms from behind and squeezes tightly.

"You think you can run from this," he breathes sharply into her ear, "like the child you have always been? Your powers may have grown, Sarah. But you are still no match for me." He pauses. "_Anywhere_ you run here – I will find you."

He turns her around to face him, and thrusts her backward.

"But I beat you! I beat your labyrinth!" She is crying now, the tears across her cheeks shining gold in the sun. She knows she is giving him too much of her. _I have to stop. I have to stop crying in front of him. _

"Did you now?" He steps closer, brushing a tear from her cheek with a gloved finger, and continues: "Then why does the Labyrinth haunt you so? Aboveground, you are but a _ghost_. Even as you walk in the world above, you are wandering these walls, like some poor field mouse. As you sleep, so I wake inside you."

Sarah has stopped crying, but her chest still heaves up and down. Her frustration is replaced by a panic that rises and rises in her, making her breaths erratic and harsh. The air around her seems to mimic her breathing, which scares her. She steps backward, and almost falls out of vertigo, but catches herself and lifts her head.

"I know – I know you know where I've been. Tell me. Tell me what's happening to me." Her voice cracks, and she winces -- it makes her sound feeble, like the field mouse he had likened to her. _He knows. He knows how scared I really am._

Jareth grins playfully. "No, Sarah. You will know soon enough. And I have already been so _generous_, despite your ingratitude. But I will give you a hint: you've been closer than you think."

Sarah half-opens her mouth to speak, but he puts a finger to her lips, and brushes her hair back from her face. "But you are exhausted. Let me take what is left in you – before you harm yourself." The tenderness in his voice alarms her.

_But the King of Goblins had fallen in love with the girl. . ._

He brushes his lips against her forehead. He seems to float above her like a cloud, ready to swallow her.

"Let me immortalize you," he breathes.

His hand teases her hair, then cups her shoulder and inches downward. . .

_No!_ She pushes his chest as hard as she can muster, and steps backward. _Powers. _Sarah pulls and pulls, focuses on home -- on the oceanside, where this all began – and – _Yes_ – she can hear the waves on the rocks, smell the salt air on her face – and keeps pulling, as she had done earlier. It hurts. It feels as if her stomach is being lifted and wrung from her body. _I don't think I'm strong enough_—

Sarah hears his cold laughter in the corner of her mind, like the cracking of ice underfoot.

She stops.

"So endearing! Little foal, thinking she can escape the jaws of the wolf, even as his mouth closes on her." His glare cuts her, and for a moment, Sarah thinks he might kiss her. "The chance for you to move the stars has passed, I'm afraid." He stops, frowning. "I should have withdrawn my gift the last time you stood under me, reciting the words from some storybook – words you could barely remember, even as lives were at stake!" He chortles, narrowing his gaze. A wisp of his blond hair falls over his eye like lightning. "You thought they'd saved you, like some inane mortal prayer." His voice sharpens with anger. "I should have never allowed you the chance to defy me."

Jareth holds out his arm.

"But, no use in dwelling on mistakes," he says calmly. "By now, you've given me more than you realize."

He whistles, and two birds come to perch on his arm. They are night-black, with sleek feathers, and their vocalizations curl like his lips as he begins to smile. Yes – they are the birds that came from her.

He widens his smile further. "I'm afraid you are too late."

He looks at her, his eyes pulling at her body.

_Run._

Sarah turns and runs again.

_I'm afraid you are too late_.

He had been talking to her as if she couldn't win – as if the hours did not matter. _Too late._ How much time has passed? It is mid-afternoon now, and she began at night – and she had accidentally cheated herself some hours by using his gift, his _stupid _gift. Has she already lost? Is she trapped in the Labyrinth?

She pumps her legs and arms past the stone, which seems liquid as she whizzes by -- pushing forward – _thrusting _herself —

But how her whole body still _hurts_, her throat and chest still stinging from the tiny beak of the bird as it came up through her. Sarah still can't truly believe what has happened to her. _A nightmare_. All of this must be one of her nightmares. How can a bird come out of one's body? Isn't that the stuff of dreams, pulled from some strange symbolic language of the subconscious? And yet it had happened. And the birds had belonged to him.

_His power. _And so the power had been inside of her all along. She curses herself. All along she may have possessed the ability to reorder time and space and bring herself home, and now it is _too late_ – she has given too much back to him. _But not all, he said._ She still had some moving in her, through her body – she could feel its force. How can she save her life, now?

Her heart pounding -- still running fast -- Sarah looks behind her –

_I don't think he's followed me. . ._

And runs into the wall, and moves through the stone. . .

----------------------------

Sarah stands in the middle of a narrow path through -- a forest?

Yes. The trees are leafless and thick as muscles, seem to move and breathe even though she can't feel any strong wind. They were as wide as cars, and they all seem to flow into each other. She touches one – then pulls away. Its bark is knotted and porous, and she feels a slight release of air, as if the tree were a gigantic instrument at the mouth of a force she cannot see. Sarah suddenly feels as if she is standing inside an enormous whale.

_How did I get here? _

She looks up. The sky is gray and motionless -- _if there is a sky_ – and the bare branches of the trees seem to disappear into it. Every once in awhile, she hears and feels a slow rush of air, much like air through a closing door.

Sarah's heart is beating rapidly.

She has no recollection of where she had just been – or what she had been doing – before this moment. Her head is cloudy and dazed. Dreaming. She must be dreaming.

Had she been running? The soles of her bare feet are sore. She feels a slight pang of fear in her chest – the kind of feeling she'd had while playing tag at recess, when the fastest boy was after her – as if she were being chased. But no one is here with her, now. She is alone.

_Am I?_

Surely, there is a reason she is here. Unless. . .

Sarah begins to walk. The path is extremely narrow, and in some stretches she needs to contort her body to fit through the spaces. _This place – it's so strange._ On the surface, she seems to be walking through a forest. But something is different here, and she can feel her breath quickening with fear. Her head aches. If she were to hurt herself, who would be there to help her?

Who would bring her _home_?

Home, to Sarah, seems so distant at this moment that she questions its existence. It feels like some misplaced heirloom, somehow lost while moving and never recovered – floating somewhere in the world, untouched, belonging and existing for no one. _Am I who I think I am? _Has her whole life been a dream? Is this – dark trees, breathing under their quiet gray sky– really the world to which she belongs?

_Rustle. . ._

Sarah stops.

Was that a sound, to her left? Her heart is beating almost painfully now. She suddenly wants so badly to curl up into a fetal position, close her eyes, and open them in a safe place. The desire to do this feels so strong, so instinctual, that she almost thinks it could work.

She clears her throat and cups a hand to her mouth. "Hel – Hello?"

Nothing.

Sarah cups both hands over her mouth now, and she notices that they are trembling. "Is anyone there?"

Nothing.

Instead of waiting any longer, she steps from the path and walks in the direction of the sound – if the sound had even been _real._ At this moment, Sarah is questioning the existence of her sanity. With no one beside her for support and validation -- to nod and say _Yes, I heard it, too_ --how can she really know?

She climbs over a large root, and peeks around the trunk.

"Oh, it's you!"

The horse looks at her warily. Its eyes seem funereal and lonely to her, like graveyards. Sarah wonders if it has already resigned itself to death. "It must be lost," she says to herself, and walks closer. Its coat is a sleek and muscular brown, with white speckles down the back and forehead – a trail of stars -- and Sarah suddenly feels a profound sense of deja vu. She knows she has seen this animal before – feels drawn towards it, as to an old friend – but where?

Up close, the horse looks weary – with its head low, its green eyes dull and half-closed – and is not afraid when Sarah touches its face. "You must be so hungry. How did you get so lost?" She half expects an answer, but the animal is still. "Well, maybe we can help each other. I need to get out of here, and so do you."

Sarah looks at the horse, then sweeps her eyes across the dark and root-tangled trees.

Could she really ride out of this place? Sarah has never ridden a horse before, but she could try. Atop a horse, she wouldn't need to worry about her feet being cut by rocks or bark, and she could cover the distance in significantly less time. _Seems easy enough._ She places both her hands on the back -- _It doesn't seem alarmed_. . . – and climbs up slowly, dangling her legs and wrapping her arms around its neck. Once she steadies her legs on both sides, she takes the mane and gives the horse a slight kick. It moves! Good. _But – which way?_ The trees form an earthy labyrinth, shadowy and thick as stone. _Maybe I should let her – is it a her? – take me. . ._

The path she had taken earlier is too narrow. They need to walk off the trail, in zig-zags, and Sarah feels the fear already forming and bloom like a thorny flower in her stomach. Worse – though the horse climbs carefully over the roots – she is terrified they'll fall, and her body will be crushed. Or she could hit her head, and bleed. . .as in her nightmares, when no one could help her. . .She closes her eyes. _It will be okay. It will be okay._ But deep down, she knows the possibility of death is very real. . .

She rubs the horse's neck. "Please – just get us home, wherever that is," she says quietly, relieved that she can talk to someone – _anyone_ – even if "someone" is only an animal. _But what a beautiful animal. . ._

For what seems like hours, the only discernable sound is the clap of hooves against the bark, or else the small and cheerful compliments she gives the horse, hoping she understands how grateful she is for company. Every once in awhile, Sarah feels motion – but not wind – in the air, and sees the trees stir slightly.

And every once in awhile, she feels someone -- or something -- lurking behind them. But when she turns around, all she can see is wood and shadow, intertwining and knotting, so that she can't see beyond.

"I'm going insane, aren't I?" she mumbles.

The horse quickens her pace now, almost breaking into a trot.

She must see something up ahead.

"That's it, girl. . ."

Sarah breathes a sigh of relief. The path widens, and opens into a hill. . .

She gives the horse a gentle tap with her feet, and soon they are out of the trees, cantering – now galloping – upward. . .

Sarah gasps.

_Amazing._ . .

Before them, the salt flats stretch for miles in all directions, like the crushed bones of all the fish left from some ancient sea. Even the sky is a smooth and static white. To Sarah, the landscape seems like the inside of a painting, as if she has stepped into the canvas and can see the artist's full and terrifying vision that is otherwise limited by material and space and time. What water could have been here? "Let's think. . .where are there salt flats? Utah, California. . ._Bolivia_. . ."

Sarah squints as the horse continues walking ahead, unperturbed. The horizon line is charcoal gray, which could mean that mountains or hills lie many miles in the distance. _Or, it could mean nothing, _she thinks, still dazed.

_Absolutely nothing._

No water, no food, no grass for her horse. No sign of land or life. Just salt and sky.

_I must be dreaming. How --_

Sarah flies through the air, sailing upward–

Then hits the coarse ground -- and feels a _pop_ in her ankle –

Then, blinding pain –

As the horse bucks and rears again, and gallops away.

"FUCK!"

Stranded. She is stranded in the middle of the salt flats, in some strange part of the world, left for dead – and with an injured ankle. She can't run. How will she find food and water in time? The panic she feels is unreal. She cannot remember any time in her life when the panic felt so much part of her body, like a vine creeping up her muscle and bone and into her heart. . .

"Maybe" – she winces in pain as she tries standing – "maybe I can get the horse to come back." She can still see its shiny-brown coat, perfectly sculpted against the stark white of the panorama.

_But what was the horse running_ from?

Now the panic strangles her heart. She can't breathe.

Using all her strength – gritting her teeth so hard she thinks they might crack – Sarah stands up and looks back towards the woods. The trees blend; they seem to swell and sway, like many tongues together. _Had_ something been following them?

"Maybe it was just a wolf or a bear. Maybe it's gone, now."

_Don't panic, don't panic. . ._

"They're scared of people, anyhow. Right?"

She backs away slowly, keeping her face turned to the trees.

And backs into something, or someone.

Someone who grips her upper arms, and holds them to her sides.

"Well, well. . ." he lays into her ear, prickly and sharp as an electric shock.

That voice, she knows that voice.

"If it isn't _you_?" said sinisterly, almost playfully, and yet without a hint of smile.

And then Sarah knows.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Sorry for the slight delay in updating. I had some friends staying at my house for a few days and got busy, etc. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW. I'd really appreciate it.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything _Labyrinth._

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Sarah closes her eyes. _Dreaming. I'm still dreaming_.

But slowly, she is remembering. She was running in the Labyrinth. She walked into – or through? – a wall, and then awoke among those strange trees. She feels a part of some stream-of-consciousness experience, unable to fully grasp any moment in time – unable to grasp her _self,_ anymore -- _as if I'm part of time and space, and moving with_. . .

But she knows she is in trouble. Her heart is galloping.

Jareth pulls her around to face him. She looks at him. His skin is almost ceramic against the backdrop of salt and bright sky, and his eyes shine darkly in the oppressive white. Clothed in all black, golden-haired, he seems like the center of the landscape. Sarah half-expects a flock of ravens to swoop down and whirl about him. She narrows her eyes and stares at him with contempt.

"Really, Sarah. I thought you'd be more pleased to see me, so lost and far from home." He takes a step towards her. "But it's quite spectacular here, isn't it?" he says, half-smiling, his teeth glinting. As he talks, he sweeps his eyes over the white expanse and holds out his arm.

Sarah steps back. "Where the _hell _are we?" Her voice is low and dazed.

"Why, Sarah, you don't know by now?" Now he smiles wide, a half-moon of sharp teeth, and looks into her eyes.

She says nothing. Jareth glares at her.

He looks down. "Tell me, Sarah." He looks into her eyes again, and grins.

"Do you ever hear the footsteps in your own blood?"

Sarah frowns, becoming angry now.She feels her face flushing red and warm against the backdrop. _Riddles and lies._ Always. He is toying with her. She is a plaything to him.

He steps closer and leans to whisper into her ear.

"Do you ever feel me inside of you?"

A shiver runs up her body. She pushes him, and then steps back. But he takes hold of her wrist and slinks close to her again. "Listen closely, for I will warn you only once. Do not _ever_ lay a hand on me again." His face is taut and grave, like a rock smoothened by water, and his voice guttural.

Sarah looks around wildly, unable to speak. She feels like a caught deer, held in the painful grip of a metal trap, bleeding all over the snow. All she can see is the coarse salt and the pentangular cracks in the ground, the smooth sky, the brown speck of horse in the distance. It seems to be walking in circles.

"Speak."

"What – what do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"The connection, Sarah."

"_What_ connection?"

"Let's look at an analogy, shall we?" He releases her wrist and begins to pace around her, keeping his eyes on hers. His tone is less callous now, as if he were speaking sternly to a small child. "Trees, for example. When roots grow adjacent to one another, they often begin to grow _into_ each other, and soon several trees will belong to the same system of roots." He stops pacing for a second, and then continues. "Or, think how rivers flow into the ocean – branches upon branches of water connected by one body. Think of it! All of space and time, spreading its arms in all directions, ebbing and flowing in one smooth motion." Now he stops walking and looks at her with darkened eyes, and grins wickedly. "And so, dear child, are we – you, and I, and the Labyrinth – linked to each other."

"I still don't understand. How? Why?" Her voice cracks. Panic is gripping her body, a sturdy vine climbing over her ribs. She hopes he doesn't notice her shaking. His eyes and teeth seem so large and sharp to her now.

_The better to eat you with, my dear. . ._

"When I gave you power – _magic_ – magic of the _Labyrinth_ – you were forever joined to the Underground. Now – in fact – I might use the word _chained_. Oh, the bond was subtle above, haunting your every movement, like a doppelganger. But even so far above, you felt the pull downward, did you not? And the longer you've stayed in the Underground – and the more of your powers you've released into the Labyrinth" – he grins – "back to me, I might remind you -- the more fluid the barrier has become. You and the Labyrinth have begun to flow into each other, as two rivers."

Jareth pauses, and she looks at him, bewildered. He adds, "Why do you think I was so _willing_ to allow you your precious thirteen hours?"

_Thirteen hours._ What time is it? Has she really lost?

"Thirteen hours that you have squandered, when all you needed to do was use the magic I had given you!" He says this smiling, and with such amusement, such triumphant glee, that Sarah feels suddenly nauseous. _I'm going to vomit_. . .

"But then -- where are we?" she manages to croak.

"Why, Sarah – we're in your bones!"

He grins at her playfully. Her whole body sways. _This is not happening. _

"But that's impossible. . ."

"Oh, of course we aren't _in_ your bones." 

"Quit playing games, Goblin King, and tell me the truth. Tell me. . .or. . ."

Jareth steps closer, and hovers over her face. "Or what, precious thing? What can you possibly do to me now?" His grin is mischievous, but his voice is cruel and cold, like a piece of ice melting down her chest. He touches her cheek, and traces his hand down her neck to her heart. "You have lost yourself to me. You are _mine_."

Sarah opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes. . .

_He wants me to forget who I am. _

He steps back, unsmiling. Sarah suddenly feels overwhelmed by the magnitude of the landscape, as if being spun in a whirlpool of white. "I'm glad that we understand each other." Pause. "But I will further explain the circumstances" – he sweeps out his arm – "if you wish. Think of this place simply as another layer -- an echo, if you will – of your world, as if you have walked through a mirror, or a slurred image of yourself in water. Think of this world as a reflection."

Silence.

He opens his arm again, as if unveiling a great work of art. "The Labyrinth is showing you your inner world. It is as if you have walked through the walls of your skin. Amazing, no?" He pauses, grinning. "And, because the barrier between the Labyrinth and your own self has weakened in time, so have I been able to cross over. I must say, dearest -- your world is quite stunning."

Sarah's mouth is still open, and she searches for words. . .

"I have walked into you, and through you. And now, here we are. And how will you stop me, Sarah? With what powers will you banish me?" he taunts, his voice rich and mahogany.

"No." She steps back. "We _don't_ understand each other. I will never belong to you."

"Really, now? You have no power over me. But I, I have great power over you."

"No."

"Oh _yes,_ Sarah."

_No._ . .

Sarah begins to run, but the pain in her ankle is blinding, and she can only limp. _The horse, the horse. We can ride away together and hide and think. _The blood-bay horse stands glossy and vivid in the chalky landscape. It hears the scrape of her feet against the coarse ground, and looks up at her. The ivory land behind seems unending. _But so far, it is so far away. . . _

Sarah hears Jareth whistle loudly behind her.

She turns around. His arm is extended, and his palm opened, as if channeling spirits.

And then, she hears the hooves scattering the loose salt.

Sarah's heart sinks. She lets out a deep groan.

The horse – _her _horse -- is running to _him._

The animal stops before his hand, and he strokes its forelock graciously, and whispers something into its ear. Its red-brown coat shines like an island in the midst of the white sea, so still and tame it might as well be dead. _But it was so scared of him before. . ._ And then Jareth reaches under his cape, and pulls out a bridle. _What is he doing?_ He places the bridle over its face – the bit now snug in its mouth – and climbs into its back. . .

_Oh no. . ._

And he kicks – hard – and gallops towards her.

Sarah can see his face now, twisted and snarled. Cruel.

She tries to sprint back towards the woods, the trees' shadows curling slowly. _If only I can get there, I can hide in the trees. . ._ The pain is excruciating, like wasps stinging deep into her foot, but she manages to break into an awkward run. Behind her, the hooves pound loudly, and she feels him closer and closer. . .

Closer. . .

_It's too late._ . .

And then Sarah feels his hand brush the back of her neck. "No," she hears herself choke, as Jareth grabs onto her shirt, and lifts her up in front of him on the horse. Before she can speak, he places his palm on her forehead, and suddenly she is so tired, and feels the sleep coming for her, like a heat wave. . .

_Stay awake. . ._

She feels her body slump back and go limp in his arms.

-----------------------

Sarah wakes to grass prickling the back of her neck, and stirs. She opens her eyes. The sky is purplish and bright as a vein. "What happened. . ." she mutters, rubbing her eyelids with the heels of her hands. Her head sloshes with a migraine, which makes her see dark spots. The light hurts her eyes. Something about the horse, and salt flats. . .and the Goblin King, grinning at her lasciviously. . ._riding towards me._

Now her heart beats faster.

The air pulses all around her, gently but perceptible. She moves her head from side to side and looks for him. _I know he's here. Or will be. . .soon. . ._

The unkempt grass is speckled with dandelion and clover, and a bluish-emerald river rides alongside the field, with some oaks at the bank. She looks again at the violet sky. This field feels so familiar to her. The Goblin King had said this place was some evocation of her body, or her inner life -- something about the link between her self and the Labyrinth, and. . .him. He said she had walked through the Labyrinth walls and into this world of hers -- and so had he – because they were _united_. Right? He said he had walked through her! _But can I even trust him? What would this place be? _

Sarah breathes deeply_. Where is he now? _

And then Sarah realizes, or thinks she does.

_This is my heart_.

She suddenly feels peaceful and warm, almost comforted. _It's so beautiful. _Squinting, she can discern tiny fish, opening and closing their mouths, in the air. They are faint and soundless, but she can see them. _That must be my blood_. The whole experience feels surprisingly real. Everything is sensory and palpable. She can smell the grass, hear the distant water rushing. It doesn't feel wispy or dream-like, but somehow stable.

Though reason tugs at her, Sarah feels she could stay here forever.

This is the quietest moment she has had during this nightmare – or perhaps ever – and she lets her mind wander a little. _God, what am I doing here?_ She closes her eyes to hold back the tears. _I may never see anyone I love ever again_. It is both terrifying and true. Everyone -- her fiance, Toby, her parents – feels so vague and removed, like photographs found in an attic box, and yet she still misses them terribly. But who is to blame? She had always blamed herself, but now she wants to blame _him_ – the Goblin King -- for everything. The first time, she had lost Toby because he wanted her – or _loved _her? – and needed a way to bring her to him. A lure. And her leaving home was a direct result of the nightmares he had given her. The relentless calling of the Labyrinth for her return was a result of his doing.

_Bastard_. Yes. The Goblin King had given her magic – and forged a bond between them -- she had never wanted. Even at fifteen, spoiled and confused, she hadn't wanted to be _part _of the Labyrinth. She had never asked for her wishes to have power. Or for his love. He had given her _everything_ she had always hated. _Now I'm stuck here and alone and he's going to come for me. . .and what then? What then, Sarah? _She groans.

_Enough._

Sarah tries to stand. Her ankle is still sore, but feels much better. But how? Did he heal her? How long was she asleep in the grass?

She looks toward the river and squints. The horse grazes at the grass near the water, next to a great oak tree. _Her _horse, the one with the white stars down its back, with the sad green eyes like clouds or nebulas. She begins walking, but breaks into a jog, as if the animal has held all the answers all along, and can save her from him. . .and herself. _Oh please, let me get out of this alive. There must be some way I can get out of this without magic. There must. _

But where is The Goblin King?

As soon as she reaches the horse, she moves to touch its forelock, but it pulls away. It looks at her with eyes distant and cold as marbles.

"No. Not you. Please, what's wrong?" _It wants nothing to do with me. I'm a stranger. _

She tries again, and again the horse steps back from her hand.

Sarah turns around and covers her face in her hands. She needs to regain control of her emotions, and rethink the situation, before he comes back for her. Taking her hands from her face, she keeps her eyes closed for a second – concentrating – and opens them just in time to see Jareth step from behind the oak. He flashes his pointed teeth and steps towards her.

"It answers to me now, Sarah. And soon, you will follow."

He steps towards her again. She steps back.

Still clothed tightly in black, he truly looks evil – but beautiful. She has no words to describe his beauty, as if he has put some celestial glamour on himself intended only for her. He glows, his face perfectly carved in the purple light. He grins at her salaciously.

"You know there's no use in running. I have the power, now."

He reaches out his hand. The air stirs.

"Come with me, love."

"I hate you." She throws the words at him.

He makes a pouty face, mocking her, and lowers his arm.

"You don't know what you want, little girl. You always were such a child."

"Then why? Why do you _love_ me? Why do you destroy my life?" she spits.

He scowls.

"Because you are the purest, most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and from the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted – more than anything – to touch you. To lay you down, and sink my teeth into you. To claim you." His voice is passionate and low, crackling like a small fire.

Sarah takes a step backward. The horse neighs, the river seems louder.

"I can make you immortal, Sarah. Never again will you feel fear or pain. I can fill you with darkness and light and all the force of this world, and you will_ scream_ with pleasure. Forever. Isn't that what you want?"

"_No_. I don't want it. I don't."

"Well." He steps close to her, and brushes back her tangled hair.

"I'm afraid that I do."


	7. Chapter 7

AN to those of you will with me: So sorry for the long delay. I've been too busy so work on this thing for long periods of time, so it just took longer. Please review!

Disclaimer: Everything _Labyrinth_ is not mine.

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_I'm afraid that I do. _

Sarah pulls back, nearly falling down into the tall grass. The clover-quilted field looks softened in the light, and suddenly she wants more than anything to lie down and fall asleep. Why couldn't this be one of her nightmares, some lucid dream?

Jareth touches her face.

"Take your hand off me."

_Enough is enough. _Her fear has transformed into fury. On one level, she still fears the man – _is he a man?_ – standing before her, but she is through with playing these games with him. She is through giving him the satisfaction.

Jareth frowns. "Listen to me carefully." Using his free hand, he places a finger on her lip to silence her. "You are bound to the Labyrinth, as muscle to bone. You _cannot_ leave. I cannot release you."

His words ring in her head, like a lingering organ chime. _Bound._ But can she break the bond, somehow cut the cord?

"Sarah."

Jareth smiles at her sharply, baring his teeth. Sarah braces herself.

"Tell me. Do you remember being a little girl, and calling to me day and night? Do you remember calling for me in the park? In your _dreams_?"

Sarah grits her teeth. "No."

Jareth narrows his eyes.

"Pity." He begins to pace around her. "You called and called for me, your voice like a silver charm. And I came to you, Sarah, as I've always done your bidding. And even here" – now he comes close, and leans into her neck, and breathes against her -- "I can see your desire radiating, just as you radiated then, as I came to you and whispered into your ear. . ."

"I was a CHILD!"

But even now, she finds his eyes so beautiful. His eyes – she realizes – are coercive. The light sharpens them, forcing her to keep his gaze.

"A confused child, yes. I never touched you then – and I never would have -- but I could see through time to the woman you'd become. And now, here you are, so beautiful – my beautiful Sarah -- and what do you expect me to do?" He lowers his voice to a whisper. "Your little song still trembles in my ear. . ."

"I'm not _singing_, Jareth!" She cringes slightly. It is the first time she's said his name.

Jareth holds up his hand to halt her speech. "You made me love you." His tone turns low and callous, with a hint of excitement. "And yet you cannot even define the love you've created. Is it generous, Sarah? Or is it cruel and bloody, like your dreams? Did you want me charming and handsome – from some declawed storybook -- or did you want me to tie you down and take you on a bed of thorns? You wanted me to love you, dear girl, but you never set the terms."

"I was _pretending_!"

_Or, at least I thought I was._

"Ah – you didn't _mean_ it. You were _pretending_." He is nearly shaking with anger. "Well, Sarah, now that you know I am very _real_, what _ever_ will you do? Do you _really_ think your intentions are relevant _now_?"

Sarah winces.

"And what a _shame_ for you that you could not define your desires, then. You have left it to me to choose. Generous, or cruel? Gentle, or bloody? What brand of love shall I show you?"

_Bloody?_

Sarah closes her eyes, remembering her dreams more clearly now – a glimpse of her body sprawled in the moonlight, a shadow breathing into ear, and then standing over her. . .

_Fear me. . ._

She wants to say so much in reply, but can only swallow and stammer a few words. "I – I never wanted this."

"Oh, but you did." He grins elfishly. "You would never admit so to anyone – not even yourself – but I've heard you." He lightens his tone, as if changing the subject. "Do you remember, Sarah, when my name slipped from your lips at a rather – inopportune – moment?" He grins.

"No." But she does remember. She was in bed with Jacob, and he had been pushing into her harder than he ever had – almost_ cruelly_ – and he had pulled her hair, and nipped at her neck, and suddenly, she blurted out his name._ Jareth_, said under her breath. In his passion, Jacob hadn't seemed to notice. But she had.

"Liar," he whispers into her ear.

He moves back from her, and his face calms and settles, like the last drift of a snowstorm. He seems so satisfied, so pleased with himself.

"No," she whispers back.

The horse grunts. A wind is picking up, combing over the grass and through Jareth's luminescent hair. Sarah looks around her. Now the horse pricks its ears, and shifts its footing. She feels her own face prickle with fear.

Something is coming.

She turns to look. Jareth steps behind her, his head hovering over her shoulder.

"Look, Sarah." He reaches out his hand to point. "There, do you see it?"

A black storm looms over the distant hill, swallowing the purple light at the horizon. Sarah feels a wave of deja-vu.

"What –"

"The last of your power."

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

"What does that mean? What will happen now?"

Jareth does not answer. Instead, he lowers his hand and stands behind her, holding her arms, so that she cannot move.

Sarah squints. The cloud is swirling and funneling, and her instincts are telling her to run – _run away from that thing_ – and she is reminded of the pyroclastic cloud she once saw on a television special, tumbling from the mouth of a volcano. It fumes towards them, palpable and at breakneck speed. It would be impossible to outrun.

"Scared, Sarah?"

Sarah is silent, his words still burning her eardrum.

_Why is he holding me so tightly?_

But there is no time to fight. Already, the cloud shadows them.

And Sarah's chest is _burning._

Jareth releases one of her arms and stands beside her. He extends his own arm, and upturns his hand, his mouth serious and tight as an anchor's rope.

Sarah stares, aghast.

The storm eddies over them, but silently -- a black hurricane without sound -- and the cloud slowly pours itself into his outstretched hand. . . ._So dizzy._ . .and then her chest prickles, as if a bird is struggling against her ribs. . .

_Shit, it hurts. . .like thorns. . ._

Jareth sports a victorious smile, as if remembering some boyhood catch on the baseball field. He looks at her for a moment, then back at the storm in his hand. She tightens her frown and closes her eyes. She can't bear to look at him.

_Will he truly have power over me, once he has what he wants?_ Sarah nearly doubles over from the pain in her chest._ Will he be able to make me love him? _

And then the pain subsides, the light opens against her eyelids. She looks at Jareth. The last of the cloud, a threadbare tornado, is streaming into his palm. _Gone_. Then the field is green and lit again, as if nothing has happened.

Sarah feels her legs weaken, and buckle. . ._So empty_. . _.inside._ . .

For a moment, she feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her. She can barely breathe. Jareth steps behind her again, still gripping her arms, and she resists the urge to pull from him.

_So tired. . ._

She could fall asleep. . .

Her eyes close.

"No!" she says loudly – to wake herself – and opens her eyes again. The grass sways. Her vision is blurred and she feels disoriented, almost giddy. Concussed. _Get a hold of yourself._

Still holding one arm, Jareth steps in front of her.

"It's almost over, dear Sarah," he says, putting a hand to her feverish forehead. "Once this is done, your fever and ache will be gone, your strength will return. I promise you – once this is done, you will never suffer again."

"I'd rather suffer a thousand deaths than belong to you," she whispers harshly, holding his gaze. She feels empowered by her own words – by her own choice to say them despite the danger they create, despite the fear still lodged in the back of her mind.

"I would be careful what you wish for."

Narrowing his eyes, he stands straight and tall -- his voice cold and sliding from him, flicking her ear like an eel's tail. _Cruel. Bloody._ Would he really hurt her?

Silence.

"If you tell the truth – if you _love_ me – you will not harm me."

Jareth chortles. "You have a mortal understanding of love, Sarah. Do not underestimate me."

_Sarah, beware._

His mouth is tight and thin as he continues. "Do not tempt me." He pauses and releases her, and she struggles to stand against her exhaustion. "Really, now. Do you_ still_ think this some sweetened children's tale? You know -- the wolf _loved_ the little red-cloaked girl so much, he devoured her."

_I have been generous up until now, but I can be cruel._

Her stomach churns. "But that wasn't love. That was pure, visceral desire. Hunger." She speaks slowly, taking care to steady her voice.

Jareth takes her hand and kisses her palm, and licks it slightly, and flicks his tongue between her index and middle fingers. He looks up.

"Yes, I suppose it was."

Sarah swallows. Her mouth has gone completely dry.

Jareth's eyes have turned dark, and Sarah cannot breathe. He takes her other hand, and leans in, and kisses her on the mouth. Her heart beats faster, and so the pulsing air echoes, and now his tongue sneaks between her teeth – _Oh god_ – and he traces her jawbone with his finger. Her vision swells, a feathery tingle rises up the back of her neck. . ._What is he doing to me?_

Jareth stops. "Come, love." He releases one of her hands, but tightens his hold on the other. "It's time."

"Where?"

He answers with a tug on her arm.

They saunter to the riverbank. Now they stand next to the horse, which strangely did not run away during the storm, as if enchanted under a spell of obedience. _Has he kept the horse here for a reason?_

"What – "

Jareth reaches into his cloak and pulls out a dagger.

"What are you doing?"

Silence. For a moment, she doesn't think he will answer.

"We must make you immortal." He runs a finger along the silver blade. "But first --" he pauses. "First, we must end your mortal life."

She steps back, preparing to run. Or else fight him, as if he were a mountain lion. She does not know what she will do if he comes at her with that dagger.

Jareth chuckles. "Oh no, precious thing. No. But I can't say you will not feel pain."

"I don't want to be immortal. I don't want to be like _you_. Don't you get it?" Even Sarah is taken aback by her tone.

"Oh, _stop this charade_, you ungrateful girl!," he spits. He leans toward her, so their shadows mesh. In this purple light – this light of her _heart?_ -- he truly looks regal. She almost wants to say, _No – _you_ stop this charade_, but she lets him continue.

"You know so little as a mortal. It is as if you're standing at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the surface. All you know is the pinprick of sunlight far above, and all that you cannot see slithers past your skin." Now he steps closer to the horse. "It is as if you see only though the eyes of this horse, and through its _fears_" – he puts his hand on the horse's neck – "but once immortal, you will see all. Everything. You will know the world _as_ the world itself, and not as some dumb animal walking blindly through it." He traces the dagger along its neck.

"No!" _Oh please don't hurt it. . ._

Jareth ignores her cry and continues his monologue. "And best of all, little Sarah, you will forget the petty life you've left behind to come here. Your past will no longer weigh you down. Don't you see? Your burden will fall like sandbags from your ankles, and you will rise." He sweeps out his arm, dagger in hand. "And all will finally be aligned again in my kingdom."

_No. Please don't._

"And you – _you_ will forever belong to me. You will have nothing else."

_No!_

. . . Sarah lunges at him.

She lobs her fist into his cheek, and then hits him _hard_ in the gut. . .and pushes her whole body against his. . .

Jareth grunts, and takes hold of her hair – and _pulls_ – and she yelps in pain, then presses her hands against his throat until he lets go. . .

She takes one step back, quickly gathering her strength, and rams into his chest with her arms extended like antlers. . .

And her last glimpse is of his snarled face – his _furious_ eyes -- as he falls into the river. She turns away, and hears the thick splash.

When she turns too look again, he is gone.

Sarah swallows the saliva that had pooled in her mouth. It all happened so fast. _What have I done? _His words still burn. _Cruel. Bloody. Bound._ She remembers her hands on this throat, his skin reddening. His eyes were like icepicks. He had not expected her to fight back so viciously.

Sarah feels the heat returning to her face. She had been foolish. The dagger had been in his hand. . .which means he could have wounded her, if he had wanted. And what of his magic? If she had allowed him even one moment to conjure a spell. . .she doesn't want to consider the possibilities.

And yet, she feels strangely empowered.

The horse grunts, breathing heavily. Sarah steps towards it, reaching out her hand, and again it pulls away from her. She sighs. There's no time. She cannot stay here, and the animal won't come with her. So she hits its backside – hard – and watches it run away, towards some unknown place. At least the horse will be someplace else when he returns, if he returns here.

_He will get me for this. He'll find me. _Her thoughts bounce around in her head erratically as particles, and she feels as if she might throw up. _But what then? Why does he want me immortal? All will be aligned again -- what does that mean?_

Sarah begins walking upriver, aimless and lost in her questioning. _He doesn't just love me. He needs me for something. I know he does. _But regardless, she knows he desires her. Whether or not he has other "business" with her seems irrelevant: _He wants to_ _take you 'in a bed of thorns.' _He wants to torture her for what she has done to him – _You made me love you_ – in an assertion of power. His regained power over her. _What kind of deal can I make with him to wake from this nightmare?_

Sarah shivers, and snaps herself out of her reverie.

There's no time.

She begins to jog – then run – along the riverbank, the air still pulsing around her and the sky above purplish, faintly veined. It is warm. _In my heart_. For a moment, she almost forgot that this field isn't an ordinary one – that she moves and thinks inside some reflection of herself.

_He offered me my dreams. What can I offer him?_

Sarah knows that Jareth is not a man – _man?_ – who settles for anything. Settling, for him, means he has relinquished some power. What kind of deal would he even accept at this point in the game? Whatever power she had left, he took. Whatever sympathy he had towards her, moreover, most likely dissipated when she attacked him. How could she expect him – a _villain_ like him – to show her mercy?

Sarah pumps her legs as hard as she can.

"Well, at least he won't kill me. At least, I don't think he would," she mumbles, breathing heavily.

It is difficult for her to keep a steady pace. She is still dizzy and aching. _I've really put my body through hell._ Her body probably can't handle much more abuse – or time _awake –_ but she cannot allow herself to collapse. She needs to find _something_ –some clue that might lead to her escape from this mess – before she's lost herself.

"Christ, he's humoring me," Sarah says, almost imperceptibly quiet. "He likes this. He likes playing this game of cat-and-mouse."

In her gut, she feels he could just take her right now and be done with all this. Does he still want her blessing? Or is he just enjoying his own _generosity_? Regardless, she knows she plays into his fantasies, like the fish dragging the fisherman's line deep and forward. It's sport. _The thrill is in the chase._

And yet she still runs, holding onto whatever hope she can. After all, once the fish is caught, its body is bashed against a rock and gutted. She would rather fall dead from exhaustion than fall into his hands, gasping for air, for mercy.

Sarah runs faster at the thought.

And runs.

She runs and runs for what feels like hours, letting the thoughts turn in her head.

Then – _finally!_ -- the landscape begins to change.

"Oh, thank god. . ."

Slowly, the river drops low alongside her, and she runs along a tall cliffside. Her bare feet kick up dust as she runs, stinging her eyes, and the cuts on her soles burn with it. The sky changes from violet to cerulean, as morning into afternoon, and now she realizes she has entered the high desert. _The high desert of my body_. She laughs slightly at the notion, then nearly cries.

Ahead of her, a deep chasm opens into light.

"Whoa."

The chasm seems endless. Looking down, Sarah thinks it is still deepening, still creating itself despite the visible lack of river or other forces, right before her eyes. _It must be a trick of the light_, she thinks. But like the salt flats, it feels as if an enormous body of water once churned here – as if the place was once some underwater canyon, made from the bones of sea creatures and drowned men.

_Wait_.

Sarah squints. Below, in the center of the dark ground, an object shimmers faintly and turquoise. _Something is down there. Something important._ Now she feels a slight burst of energy. Stepping forward, she kneels down and peers over the edge.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoes faintly through the chasm, and returns.

_I think I can make it down._

She takes a small pebble and throws it into the abyss, watches it disappear.

_Here goes._

Sarah looks for the nearest ledge to place her foot, and dangles one leg over the edge. Looking down to the bottom – which seems deeper by the moment – she's reminded of the mouth of a giant whale. What if the shimmering object is some bait, luring her into the jaws of some creature? Will she be swallowed?

She looks up at the sky, then down the path she came. There is no easy way around the chasm. She could perhaps balance along the rim, but still then she risks falling miles down. And the object below calls to her. It is a beacon of hope. She can hear its voices – _voices?_ – from here, like a choir of light.

_I have to do this._

Sarah takes a deep breath and steps down, slowly and carefully, onto the ledge. The rock crumbles in her hand. She closes her eyes to steady her vertigo, takes a deep breath, and then looks for another ledge that can hold her footing._ There_ – to the left – she can see a ridge.

_Deep breaths._

She takes another step down. Part of the rock wall breaks off into her hand. She can feel herself falling backwards. . .

"Shit shit shit."

. . .but steadies herself.

Sarah had taken a climbing course in college, but a sixteen-week lesson on a gym climbing wall could never prepare her for _this_. She feels the vertigo through her whole body now; her stomach levitates. _It must be miles_, she thinks. _And I'm barefoot._ _Why did I think I could do this? _

She pauses, her body hovering over the void.

Ever since she fought him, saved the horse, Sarah had been feeling like the tenacious heroine that journeyed to the center of the Labyrinth. Invincible, fearless. Ready to face anything. She had felt like her old self, the person she had been before he had weakened her. She hated to admit that he had weakened her, but he had. He had tortured her with nightmares and insomnia, until she was so disoriented that her life fell apart around her. She had run from her problems only because _he_ had exhausted her resolve by torturing her through wake and sleep. And she had run from him – here – as an almost Pavlovian response, as if he had trained her by sneaking into her mind and chasing her dream-self through her own unconsciousness.

But now, Sarah is scared. Her bones feel real, and breakable. If she falls – if she is no storybook heroine, as he constantly reminds her – her body will break. Death is not an option. She has come too far to die now.

"Okay."

She looks at the bottom of the chasm again, trying to gauge the distance. She squints and blinks rapidly. _Thorns._ The ground looks covered in thick, labyrinthine briar.

"Okay," she says again.

_Next step._

Sarah steps down.

But she missteps.

Sarah feels her foot miss the ledge, and then her body falling backward, and down. . .and down. . .

"NO!"

. . .And down.

She screams.

And then her body stops in mid-air. It just stops, and hangs in the rock-shadow above the briar.

For a moment, silence.

"Well, Sarah, it seems you've placed yourself in quite a predicament." He pauses. Sarah can hear his footsteps below her. "Were you trying to _fly_?"

_Jareth_. He sounds angry. She tries to turn her head to see him, but he is hidden – or hiding.

"I'm not afraid of you," she yells.

Then Sarah hears him laugh, low and guttural.

"Oh, Sarah, Sarah Sarah." His voice is almost jovial. Then cold.

"You should be."


End file.
